


A Shining Knight

by solasharel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abuse, Dark, Endgame, F/M, Gen, Graphic Description, Hallucinations, Lyrium Withdrawal, Miscarriage, Other, Physical Abuse, Post-Endgame, Post-Game(s), Pregnancy, Violence, Withdrawal, spoilery but not really, violent behaviour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solasharel/pseuds/solasharel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan's life after Solas and Corypheus, and the struggles she overcomes in the immediate years afterward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Year

**Author's Note:**

> A personal writing, not by request. This spawned out of nothing, so if it rambles forgive me. I wanted to try something different, and this will likely be a multi-chapter fic.

_The dawn rose cold and harsh in Skyhold, as it did most days in the mountains. Nyriel Lavellan was up with the light streaming through the Serault glass, the painted willow trees beaming a greenish-gold light across the bed sheets. She rolled to her other side, relishing in the cool patches of satin before stretching, arching her back the way a cat might as it awakens. In the spot next to her a lump of fabric stirred. She peeked over and smiled at the sight of Cullen's face scrunched up from the morning light. One brown eye opened slowly, before he rolled onto his back to see her clearly._

_"Good morning," he mumbled, still only half-awake. His arm shifted out of the covers before wrapping itself around Nyriel's swollen waistline, pulling her towards him. She kissed him lightly on the lips before resting her chin on his chest._

_"How did you sleep?" She asked as she did every morning, her frosty-pale eyes large and vibrant, mirroring his stubbled features. Cullen was not one for rising early, in fact it was something that happened very rarely for him after losing the lyrium from his system so many years ago. He sighed._

_"The way I expect any man would when they share a bed with you; eventually." Her mind traced back to last night, a haze of heated lips and limbs, and something about leverage? His dopey laughter seemed to confirm her suspicions, and she crawled over him to wipe that smug grin from his face._

\---

The memories faded out with the sounds of drill march around the courtyard at Skyhold. Nyriel was watching Cullen from the small balcony, his pauldrons sat in pride of place over his shoulders, chasing down supplies for his recruits. She laughed as his manservant hopped up with another report, and he pinched his nose as he was wont to when met with news so early in the day. He looked up to her on the balcony and smiled, and she waved back, taking a hand off her belly. The small bump there pulsed with life, and she rubbed soothingly. It had been three years since Solas had disappeared. So much had happened since Corypheus had fallen, and it had been a long and dangerous road for her. To look at where she was now, she sighed, she could never have imagined.

The first year after Solas had been gone had been devastating for her. She had spiralled into deep depression; no search for Solas could turn up results, and she collapsed inward, more perhaps than anyone expected given the brevity of their relationship. The Inquisition itself was faced with a crisis when Leliana was named Divine and left for Orlais. Only Cullen and Cassandra were left to hold the unit together. For weeks at a time Nyriel would lie alone in her room, barely eating or drinking, and never seeking company. Even Cole had been shut out of her mind, Varric was unable to console the poor lad as he beat his head against the beams of the Herald's Rest. Cullen would come to visit her, even if it were to sit beside her bed for an hour or so every day, but she would never acknowledge his presence. She only remained still, as though sleeping, her arms folded tight against her front.

One night, about six months after Solas' disappearance, Cullen was roused from sleep by screaming. He threw himself up the stairs to her chambers to find the bedsheets soaked in blood. He had thought that was the end of everything then; seeing her tiny, emaciated frame on the bed faced away from him. As he rounded the bed he saw perhaps the only thing worse. In Nyriel's hands lay something small and fleshy, barely recognisable. His time spent working with Chantry nurses as a young man had taught him what a miscarriage looked like. For a moment he stood frozen in time, the sight of the young elf clutching at this failed attempt at a new life, bathed in blood and moonlight was horrifying. He immediately summoned for a hot bath to be made at his chambers. Gently, carefully, he picked up Nyriel's malnourished and quietly weeping form from the bed, which still clutched at the lump of tissue, and outside towards his bedroom.

Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.

The weeks following that night were too painful for Nyriel to recall even after so long, but Cullen had watched over her every movement. He had made sure she eat at least a bowl of soup a day; he had bathed her - taking care to look away from her nakedness as he did so - and he even shared his bed with her albeit fully clothed. Slowly, gradually, she began to re-emerge from herself. One afternoon on a break from signing requisitions he found her looking at a book. He said nothing, instead he sat beside her to look at her nimble fingers brushing the pages. She leaned into him, her cheek resting in his fur pauldrons, and he thanked the Maker that she couldn't see the blush that crept in from the edges of his face. When one of his men came looking for him later they found him with the Inquisitor asleep in his lap, and he waved them out. He could use an afternoon off anyway.

Another evening he was finishing up at the stables when he heard someone approach behind him. Nyriel was wandering, stroking the horses' noses and muttering to them. She managed a smile in his direction, and Cullen smiled back, turning and almost hitting a pillar as he did so. The laugh that came from her then was music to his ears, like rain hitting the arid desert. She came up to him then, and touched his arm gently, expressing concern, but in truth he could have been on fire and not have cared. He was falling for this woman, and the months of caring for her had given her complete trust in him. He looked away, flushed, and coughed. He was never good at expressing these things. In the evenings they would read together in his chambers, taking turns for every chapter. Her old interests were returning to her, and he spied her one morning on the battlements, playing with a ball of fire in her hands, just passing the flame from one to the other. It had been a long time since she had had the will to use magic. She was rusty, and when she spied him out of the corner of her eye she lost concentration, burning the tip of finger. She looked down at it, a small well of tears forming in her eyes. Cullen rushed to her, taking her hand in his and seeing the soreness. Unexpectedly her silent tears began to turn to sobs, loud wretched wails that wouldn't cease, and she burrowed into his chest as she heaved with the months of grief and sadness that had lain dormant for so long. She cried for Solas, for her lost child, for the pain of just  _existing_ , and then for the joy of having found just one emotion, and the man who had given it to her. He put his arms around her, holding her for what felt an eternity, not caring that her overreation had woken many of their companions. In the distance he heard Sera yelling for Elfy to shut up and shag already, and he had to grin at that. 

 


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the months following her first signs of recovery, Nyriel and Cullen's relationship takes an interesting change, and an old chapter in her life is drawn closed.

Nyriel had not gone back to her chambers above the war room after the night that Cullen found her.  They had discussed only briefly what had happened, the Commander waiting respectfully for her to come to him as he had always done.  She'd asked him about her child, and he had told her that he'd made a memorial in the garden for her; a small grave in the corner out of view, so as not to raise attention.  It was their secret.  A last remnant of a time before.  As the months passed and her fondness for Cullen grew, she felt her old strength coming back to her.  She would think on it from time to time, wondering how the castle would sound with its small feet pit-patting over the stone floors.  How it would have laughed and cried.  The colour of its eyes.  For a long time those thoughts left her with a sense of unease.  

About a year after Solas had left her she was finally able to visit the grave.  It was as Cullen had said; small, just a large pebble rested against the base of a sapling giving away its location.  She touched the face of the nameless headstone, the thought occurring to her that there was no name for her lost child.  She placed a wildflower from the garden over the grave and headed back to Cullen's office, contemplating what could have been.

"Abel'lahn," she had spouted into the quiet air one evening, lounging  along the loveseat and bending her head backwards over the arm to look at the confused Commander.  "Its name was Abel'lahn.  Song of Sorrow."  She let a single tear loose from her lashes, but she felt a weight lifted at last for having said it.  Cullen had left the fireside to sit with her then, the pair of them side by side, ready to listen as he was always was.  She rubbed the tear away and smiled at him.  

"It had only happened a few times," she told him, "Solas and I... it wasn't important for us.  There was so much more to it.  I had found out just before the Breach re-opened.  By then I was 4 weeks pregnant.  Solas had said he wanted to talk after about us - about why he couldn't stay - but he was gone.  He never knew.  I never got to tell him.."  She breathed out slowly, her voice shuddering.  Cullen took her hand in his instinctively, letting her continue at her own pace.  She sucked in a choked breath and carried on.  

"That's why I was so desperate to find him.  We searched for weeks, and there was nothing.  I couldn't do it alone.  I just.. I couldn't, Cullen.  Everything fell apart..."  Her eyes bored into him, the guilt and uncertainty washing over them.  She felt responsible for the death of her child.  For not seeking help when so many had been ready and willing.  Cullen sighed, and stroked her unmarked forehead with an ungloved hand.

"Nyriel, no one blames you.  Any number of things could have affected what happened.  Your mark.. Corypheus.."  Cullen's words rang with compassion and understanding.  There was no telling whether it would have survived long after the battle with Corypheus, or whether the mark on her hand - and its magic - would have some effect on it.  She sighed, noticing after several minutes had passed that he was still holding onto her hand.  She blushed, looking and seeing him as though for the first time.  He was strong jawed - something unseen among elves - and his hands were rough from years of wielding a sword.  His eyes met hers, showing a gentleness she had not known so intimately before.  Without so much as a breath their lips crashed together as though having searched an Age to find them.  His hands came up to cup her face, stroking delicately at her cheekbones, their kisses long and tentative.  He was not used to kissing; in fact it seemed almost a lifetime since he had shared such intimacy.  He yearned for her full lips, parted a fraction and releasing the hint of a moan before she pulled away.  

“Nyriel, I... I apologise.  That shouldn't have happened..”  Her eyes questioned him, but there was no backlash from the young elf, who instead seemed to smile with a dazed confusion.  “Oh Maker, that was wrong, wasn't it?”  He averted his eyes to the floor, his cheeks reddening a shade or two.  She looked past him, ignoring his concerns for the moment, and hummed.   

“Cullen, your food is overcooking,” she chuckled.  He leaped out of the chair to tend to the burning remains of the meal, and groaned.  

“I don't suppose you would rather have something else?  I may have some cold beef somewhere...” he was dithering, and it was amusing for her to watch, frail as she was still.  He took care of her, and that was different.  As the Inquisitor she cared for all who came to her.  As Keeper she would have cared and provided for her clan.  Cullen was only too happy to tend to her every whim, and it was new for her.  This all felt good, she thought to herself, new is good.

Cullen busied himself with finding something for them both to eat, stammering his way through apologies and trying not to collapse under the weight of his embarrassment.  She got up from the sofa and stood before him, waiting for him to finish speaking, and pressed her fingertips to Cullen’s brow.  His tension eased, his nerves forgotten, and she leaned up to kiss him.  She led, tentative in her approach, and realised that Cullen was nothing like how Solas had been.  He kissed as though she were a glass idol, his eyes warm and reverent, and he held her in a way that made her feel both free to leave and content to stay.  He let her kiss him, to take what she was comfortable with having, and asked no more of her.  That night she slept curled up against his side, her head resting on his chest.  His hand stroked through her hair, now long and wavy, his thoughts of the evening leaving a giddy smile on his face.  

  
So it was that their evening blossomed into a weekend, and then a few months.  By this time most people were aware of the stolen glances and the lingering touches.  Iron Bull joked that the only thing more subtle was Dorian's fashion sense, which earned him a hard but playful punch to the arm from the Tevinter mage.  Nyriel had grown from strength to strength with Cullen, who was more than happy to give her everything she deserved after her ordeal.  Sometimes, in the night, she would sneak into the Garden and talk to the little grave that lay there.  Cullen never pushed her about her grief, he had seen his fair share of it.  Instead, he welcomed her after with a kiss on her temple and another book from his modest library.  


	3. An Unexpected Visit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyriel steps foot in her tower-top chambers for the first time in over a year, and receives an unexpected visitor. Through a catching up session, they share their activities of months recent, and reveal surprising stories about each other.

_There isn't a lot of action in this scene - it's mostly dialogue to round out events in future chapters, as well as serious feels. Damn, I just love to pile on the angst!_   
_As always, please let me know what you think in the comments, or if you haven't an account you can send me an ask at my tumblr[HERE](http://www.solas-harel.tumblr.com/ask)!_

 

* * *

 

 

Specks of dust glittered in the blinding light of her quarters.  It had been a year since Nyriel had last been here, and it showed.  The bed lay unmade, sheets stripped from the mattress.  The logs in the fireplace had become damp and mildewed from the lack of heat.  There was a musty smell in the air, wrinkling her nose.  She stepped lightly across the carpeted floor, picturing the night she left this forsaken space.  The memory of the moonlight through the coloured panels of glass, the sound of her sobs, broken and so alien to her own ears now.  She could faintly recall Cullen himself, large and powerful, gathering her up in his arms as though she were a small child.  Her fingers ghosted the bed frame, and she recalled all her ties to this object.  Nights spent dreaming in this bed, mornings waking up to a face she hoped she would never have to see again.  In over a year there had been no contact from Solas, not even a glimpse of him.  Leliana’s scouts had been working relentlessly but it were as though he hadn’t existed at all.  She would believe it if it weren’t for the small grave in the gardens.  There was a knock at the door and she hurriedly swiped a sleeve across her face.  She hadn’t realised she’d been crying.  

“Come in,” she shouted, moving away from the bed and poking at the fireplace.  She didn’t expect the voice that greeted her.

“Well, I would have thought you would present a grander reception for my visit, but I can’t honestly say I’m surprised, from what I’ve heard.”  There was a Northern lilt to the man’s tone, jovial but not quite as youthful as she remembered.  Experience, and time, had aged him.  She stood up and turned to face him before tackling the man with an embrace.

“Dorian!  I wasn’t expecting you, or I would have cleaned up!”  She laughed, tears threatening to spill once more.

“Oh please, you were never a good liar.” He held her at arm’s length, examining the smiling and healthy Inquisitor.  “You’ve come a remarkably long way, you know, from the last time I saw you.  I underestimated that Commander of ours.”  He smiled, a genuine shift of his features that caused his moustache to twitch.  She patted his arm and looked about the room.  

“I haven’t been in this room in over a year now, Dorian.  I finally think I am ready to return, but I don’t want to do it alone.  Do you think I could convince Cullen to come with me, or would he prefer his space?”  

“Darling, that man will gladly follow where you lead him.  He practically worships you.”

“He does worship me, Dorian.  I’m the Herald of Andraste, remember?”  She winked, a playful mood sweeping into the atmosphere of the room.  She spied an unopened bottle of Orlesian wine on a lower shelf of her bookcase.  “What say we celebrate?  It’s felt like forever since I last spoke with you, and I need Skyhold gossip more than anything right now.”  

The Tevinter obliged her, and they cracked open the bottle and sat themselves side by side on the bed.  They passed the bottle between them as they talked, occasionally pausing to laugh when Dorian remembered a particularly funny story.  It was well into the afternoon when the wine was emptied and they lay pink-cheeked and more giggly than he would have preferred.  

 

“Okay, so obviously everyone is happy here, but what about you?  You haven’t told me about your recent history..”  Her eyes, crystal pale and dilated with the alcohol, undid his normally tightened lips.  Dorian sighed, understanding what it was the Commander could see in her.  Were he of the disposition, he would have a mind to love her as Cullen did.  

“Alright, dear, if you insist.  You’re aware of our discussion after you vaporised Corypheus, yes?  Well, a few months later I travelled back to Qarinus to see my father.  As it turns out, I needn’t have made the journey,” his eyes lowered, contemplating.

“My father was dying - he had been for some time.  That’s why he wanted to see me back in Redcliffe, he wanted to make amends before he parted this world.  I’m glad I had given him that, despite everything else.  By the time I arrive in my homeland he was no longer with us.  I stayed with my mother while we arranged his funeral, and then I came back to Skyhold.  Without my father’s standing I’ll never have enough political power to make any great change on my own in Tevinter.  Mother says she’s happy to take on the role of Magister for now, but I’ll be expected there some day, perish the thought.  There are some things here I couldn’t be without..”  

Nyriel waited patiently as Dorian gathered his thoughts.  It wasn’t often the magister’s son was quiet, and she knew that his next words would be emotionally compromising for him, more so than the news of his father.  With a deep breath Dorian confessed his deepest secret.

“Most people are aware of the… dalliance with Bull a year or so back.  Well, after I left Skyhold I was plagued by.. thoughts.  You, girl, are to breathe of this to no one, understood?”  Nyriel nodded her head in understanding, and he continued.

“Since I came back.. Bull and I.. we’ve been thinking about taking things more seriously.  Honestly, I don’t know what that means for people like us.  I’ve never had a relationship like that -  it’s not allowed, back home - and Bull?  He’s only here for as long as your treasury pays him.  I don’t know where to go from here, what with the future Magister rubbish.  It’s infuriating!”  Dorian clapped a hand to his face dramatically and let out a groan.  Nyriel couldn’t help but smile at her beloved friend’s plight.  It was a welcome change to the continued angst of her own life.  He must have heard her giggle, because his eyes suddenly rounded on her, annoyed but amused.

“You seem to be the love expert, what would you do?”

“Love expert?  I don’t, I mean- I’m not-”  She was lost for words, the thoughts of her evenings spent in Cullen’s arms welling from the depths.  She hadn’t wanted to talk about this.  It was complicated.  Cullen had made his feelings for her known, he told her so each night before they slept and again when they woke together each morning.  But he had never pressured her for any answer, just as he had never pushed their physical intimacy.  She blushed then, and Dorian was boring into her with silent questions and a raised eyebrow.

“Cullen and I.. He loves me, he tells me so anyway.  But I- I haven’t told him.  I’m not ready.  I’m not ready for many things…” She confessed, defeated.

“You mean you haven’t?  I would have got that over with in the first week, no sense leaving a hot pot to boil over, if you catch my drift.  No, no, I understand.  You’ve been through a lot and he’s doing the decent thing.  He respects you, treasure that.”

Nyriel began to roll her lip between her teeth.  Dorian deserved to know, she felt.  It would help him understand.

“Dorian, when Cullen began to look after me… The night he found me.. Do you remember anything about the castle?”  

“Only that the serving maids were scurrying around like headless chickens.  It took me days to get my laundry back that week.  Something big must have happened.  That wasn’t… that wasn’t about you, was it?”

Nyriel swallowed, tracing circles in the mattress with one finger.  

“I’d been very sick, as you know.  For days at a time I didn’t even leave my bed.  It continued that way for months until one night I hit my lowest point.  I don’t really remember what happened, only that Cullen came to me - I’d been screaming..”

“Ah, yes.  I do remember that.  Thought that Josephine had perhaps found the lizard Sera placed in her pillowcase - that was the night after.”  He gestured her to continue, and she obliged, pausing for a few moments to gather her thoughts.

“Dorian, the only other person in Thedas who knows about this is Cullen.  I wish it to remain that way.  When Cullen had found me… I had miscarried.”

“Miscarried? As in… Oh, kaffas, you were with child?”

She nodded silently, tears slowly falling in place of words in the descending darkness.  Dorian flicked his wrist in the direction of the fireplace, forcing the dampened logs to ignite, casting a dim glow about the dishevelled chambers.  He didn’t look at her then, presumably trying to think of some sign of her pregnancy before they had last spoken.  She spoke, breaking the deafening silence.  

“I had known before Corypheus.  With Solas gone… I couldn’t cope.  That only made things worse.  Cullen saw me through the worst times, helped me in ways no one else could have.. I owe him my very life, and yet… I’m so afraid.  What if this will all be taken from me too?  What if he does this from pity, or tires of me, or I can’t give him what he wants?  I couldn’t bear it, Dorian.”

Her voice hiccuped, and the Tevinter pulled her close to him.

“Listen to me, Nyriel.  That man would rip his way into the Fade itself to see you safe and sound.  His feelings go a lot farther back than your being.. unwell.  Let me tell you something..  Cullen and I played chess often, yes?”  She sniffed and let out a sigh, remembering the afternoons of laughter between the two unlikely friends.

“In the weeks before you and Solas.. He would ask me about you.  Lots of things.  At first I thought perhaps he was gathering information for Leliana, or trying to find out if you were happy with your role in the Inquisition for Josephine, but the way his face lit up with every question about you… He has loved you for a long time, my dear.  I have a feeling he will love you for a long time yet to come.”  

He stroked a hand through her hair, letting her absorb the words.  Cullen loved her despite everything?  The idea that he could have felt that way for so long was a shock to her.  While she had been with Solas he was a good friend, a trusted companion, leader of her armies.  She had never considered the idea that one day she would sleep curled up against his warm skin.  Yet it explained his awkward manner, his stutters and reddened cheeks when she entered a room.  How he had let her win at chess - that was no fluke, and she knew it.  She couldn’t even remember the name of the pieces.

Sa’vunin had changed nothing for him, then.  She recalled her first kiss with him, the conviction of his lips pressed against hers, as though he may never get another chance in his lifetime to do so.  How everything was worth risking for that moment with her.  She felt a sudden need to be near him.  She needed it to be real, she needed to hear the words again, and again, as long as his lips could utter it and her ears could listen.

 

“I need to see him, Dorian, now.  I’ve been such an idiot- Thank you, though.  For coming back, for-”

Dorian chuckled softly.

“I understand, just wash your face first, no one wants to see the Inquisitor with teary eyes and pink cheeks.”  

She smiled meekly back at him, clutching and squeezing his hand before rising from the bed.  Cullen would no doubt be finishing his training in the courtyard.  That would be the first place to look.


	4. Headaches.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same day: Cullen comes down with a migraine during training, things spiral downhill quickly when Nyriel goes to tell him how she feels.
> 
> WARNING: This scene has some violent content - recommended for mature readers only, and definitely a TRIGGER WARNING.

The sun had been relentless for most of the afternoon.  The Inquisition’s forces had trained despite the heat at their backs, the chill wind giving them the boost they sorely needed for their practise duels.  Beside them was Commander Cullen, single-handedly showing encouragement and tutelage where needed.  No matter how small the dangers were after Corypheus, he had to be sure his men were ready for anything.  It came as no surprise that as the sun passed overhead a headache pulsed its way across his brow.  He looked around at his exhausted recruits, and signalled the end of the days’ training.  

“Get showered and head inside for your meals.  Tomorrow we’re going over shield defense and I need you with rested bodies,” he called out the men.

They nodded and murmured their pleasantries as the Commander retreated briskly to his office.  Already the lights were dancing at the corner of his vision, a thirst had crawled down his throat, and his hands were trembling.

Cullen was almost blind by the time he reached his chair, and he slumped ungainly backwards when the deafening ringing pierced his eardrums.  It had been so long since his last episode.  Months, possibly.  Time seemed to move so quickly when he shared so much of it with his Inquisitor.  He pinched the bridge of his nose and crushed his eyelids together, willing the pain to lessen.  There was still no concrete cure for his head pains, or at least not one that he had found; only techniques for numbing the pain for a while, hoping that sleep or a warm bath would ease the sensation of his skull splitting apart.

Through the hissing in his ears he became aware of the sound of knocking at the northern door.  

“Come in,” he shouted, more to hear himself than whoever asked for him.  He prized one eye open and saw it was Jim, the nervous wreck of an assistant that had attached like a limpet to his side so many years before.  The man shuffled forward, coughing gently as he paused at the foot of the commander’s desk.  

“What is it, Jim?”  Cullen snapped.  In hindsight, he was perhaps too hard on the lad, but the pounding of his skull spoke for him.  

“Report, Sir, just debriefing as requested, Sir,” the man stammered, then shook the papers in his hand awkwardly in the direction of his senior.  Cullen growled and snatched the report from Jim’s grasp.  It was nothing serious, just an update from Scout Harding.

“Thank you, Jim.  That will be all for today, take an early evening.”  He waved the young man out of his office, who took a moment to compose himself before leaving the way he had come.  It was unusual for the Commander to call an early day.  It was only ever when the Inquisitor had been coming back to Skyhold, or if there had been a more pressing engagement in the war room.  Something was definitely amiss, Jim thought.  

Cullen briefly considered taking a walk outside.  The fresh air may clear his migraine, or perhaps the light exercise would calm his pulsing muscles.  He pushed his weight from the chair and immediately his vision blackened and knees weakened.  This was no ordinary migraine, he realised, he would have to rest through this one.  Slowly, cautiously, he dragged himself to the ladder and pulled himself up to his loft bedroom, all the while cursing the damned thing.  When he finally collapsed on the bed he was sweating profusely, and his breath was shaking.  Stars danced at the corners of his vision while he removed his armor.  It was all he could do to keep his eyes closed and toss each article over the edge of the bed.  

Immediately he was numb to the world, only dimly aware of the late afternoon sun moving between the rafters above him.  He was shivering, and pulled the covers around him, hoping that a few hours of sleep may get him through the worst of his ordeal.  

Nyriel had just come from her tower quarters, her face freshly washed and lips stained from the Orlesian wine.  The maids were almost ready to serve dinner and commented that there had been no appearance from the Commander all day.  Nyriel frowned.  Cullen was always pestering the servants about meal regimen, ensuring a hearty balanced diet for his men.  She requested that their meals be delayed an hour, and one maid nodded her understanding.  

Nyriel knocked gently on the door to Cullen’s office at early evening.  Pulling her jacket tighter around her she had slipped through the still vibrantly painted rotunda and across the stone pathway to his office, but there was no response from within.  Gingerly, she pressed a palm against the oak door and peeked around, but the room lay devoid of any presence.  She tiptoed inside, closing the door silently behind her, listening for any sound.  Months of living in such close quarters had attuned her to Cullen’s little quirks, and above her came the faint mumble and shifting of blankets.  

_Odd that he should be sleeping_ , she thought.

She climbed the rungs of the ladder and looked at the man stretched out across the mattress, shaking and tossing his head back and forth.  His curly hair had loosened in sleep, sweat lacing his brow, furrowed in pain.  She padded to the side of his bed and sat next to him, watching him for a moment.  He was dreaming, the corners of his mouth and his fingertips twitched in response to some vision.  Nyriel grazed the back of her hand against his forehead, and swiftly withdrew.  He was burning hot, feverish.  One rolled up sleeve showed he had been scratching at his forearm; the skin red with rash and raised in sore pink lines.  Lyrium withdrawal.  

Nyriel took a moment to calm herself.  She had only seen him go through an episode once before, just when she was beginning to overcome the worst of her own mood swings, and it had terrified her to see the change in him.  He had become short-tempered, and he complained of shattering headaches that made it impossible for him to focus.  It had been unpleasant for them both, but she had managed to soothe his pain using a little cold magic with great success.  Cullen groaned in his sleep, a slow painful drone that had Nyriel’s hands shaking.  She had to try something to ease his suffering.  She took a few deep breaths to focus her mind, blocking out the panic coursing through her body.  The last time she had worked on him, Cullen had been conscious, able to talk her through where the worst of his pain lay.  Now she was entirely alone, afraid of how her magic may react with the ex-templar.  

Nyriel shifted further onto the bed, kneeling over Cullen’s chest with one leg either side of him for stability.  Her small size meant she was practically sat on him, but he didn’t stir.  Instead he lay with his face scrunched in pain, dark circles forming under his eyes and a vein pulsing where his jaw had been clenched so tightly.  She rested two fingertips on each of his temples and brought forth a small charge of icy magic from the Veil as she had done once before, watching that he didn’t chill too much and lessening the flow as needed.  Between pulses of magic she massaged his head, running her fingers through his hair and behind his ears, and slowly the Commander relaxed.  A faint smile flickered over his face and she bent forward to kiss his forehead.  Just as her lips met his skin he jerked violently awake, forcing her back across the bed.  As she looked up at him, sat bolt upright, she saw his eyes were wide open, wild with fright or fever.  He looked about the room, confused, before laying eyes on her.  

“Cullen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-” she tried to soothe him, but he crawled over her and lay a hand over her mouth.

“Nothing you say shall tempt me, Demon,” he spat, “you think you can show me her face, make it all disappear?  I will do no such thing!  I will never submit to you!”

His eyes bore into hers like a forest fire, dark and murderous, and she shook her head fiercely.  No, this wasn’t right, he was supposed to be _better_.

“Hah, I know your game - you can ease my pain, give me a life without this constant addiction, and what then?  You take this life from me?  You take _her_ from me?  You may possess her form but I know your tricks!”  He threw his hand away and sat back, rubbing at his arm once again.  

“Cullen, it’s me, I swear to you!  I want to help you, I _can_ help you!  Remember the magic, it soothed your headache..”  she was trying so hard to remain calm, to remain in control, but the corners of her vision were fading and she was finding it harder to breathe.  She couldn’t have a panic attack; not here, not now.

“Nnng!  No, no!  You can’t be!  You… whispered things, things she doesn’t mean,”  he was hunched forward, shaking back and forth on the bed, fingernails breaking the skin and blood slowly running toward his wrist, “She doesn’t love me, not like this… that’s why you want to 'cure' me - take my body with the promise that she’ll care about me!”

Cullen’s words snapped Nyriel from her thoughts.  

“Cullen, listen to me!  We can get through this together, but you have to stay with me, we aren’t in the Fade, and I’m not a demon.  As for my feelings… Cullen… I came here because Dorian told me something.  You remember Dorian, yes?”

Cullen slowed his rocking motion, and she swore she could hear a quiet sob from the man.  

“We play chess... when the weather is good,” he answered, slowly calming his voice to a normal volume.  The air between them stilled, the light brightened slightly.  Nyriel shifted on the bed, legs curled under her and both hands where he could see them.  Any sudden movement would send him into a rage once more, and she wasn’t certain she was prepared to fight him, even with magic at her disposal.

“Dorian told me that sometimes… sometimes you ask questions about me?  That you care about me?”  She gulped, waiting for a response, but Cullen seemed to have frozen, one hand poised over the welts on his arm.

“You should already know that, you’ve.. you’ve been inside my head.  You saw Nathalie and now you see her and y-you… you torture me again!  I will be strong, Demon!  You will _not_ have me!”  His voice cracked as he spoke, eyes glaring between strands of sweat-slick hair.  He crawled over her once more, pinching her jaw between his thumb and fingers and scanning every inch of her face.  Nyriel was mute with fear.  He could kill her if he wanted.  She had no way of fighting him off.  She could feel his breath against her cheek, his fingernails raking at her skin slowly, deliberately.

“You’re so real… You couldn’t make Nathalie real but this… I should destroy you right now.  I should... pin you to a wooden post with nails and m-make you _suffer_ as I have!”  

Nyriel cried out as Cullen’s grip shifted around her throat, nails digging into her vein.  He would kill her if she didn’t do something, and she realised now that she couldn’t do this alone.  Sucking in one large breath before Cullen clamped down, she sent a powerful wave of energy rippling across the Veil.

Two seconds later Cullen was sent flying across the room, his bare back colliding with a dusty old picture frame.  Nyriel rolled over, gasping for air and clutching at her chest.  

“The storm beats against the rock, battered, bruised, broken.  The wind cleans the salt away, makes it soft and calm again.  I came to help,”  Cole muttered before her, kneeling on the mattress and hand extended toward her.  

“Thank you, Cole…” she groaned, too shaken to cry or scream, “Cullen is sick, his dreams make him think I’m a demon.”  

“I can heal the hurt, if he will let me,’ the spirit offered, “the heart has a hole, deep and dark, old memories made new when he looks at you.  He thinks you don’t want him, just as he thought before, so long ago.”

Cullen had barely moved during their brief conversation, the force of impact having knocked him out for a short time.  He would likely have a broken rib or two.  Nyriel frowned.

“Whatever he asks of you, Cole, please be gentle.  He can’t go on like this, the pride will kill him,” she decided, helping the rogue drag their Commander back toward the bed.  This would prove a long and trying night.


End file.
